


Necromancers Anonymous

by The_Iza



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual zombie harem for Harry!, He's a bit of a douche is what I'm saying, M/M, Necromancer!Harry, Spoiled!Asshole!Harry, Voldemort doesn't know it yet but they're dating, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Iza/pseuds/The_Iza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter was a normal child, aside from that whole raising the undead thing. But what are you gonna do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which a Demon Spawn is Born

On the day Harry Potter was born, the heavens shuddered and the black clouds poured forth a sea of bubbling acid, destroying a small mining town, a museum devoted to the history of pencil shavings, and a rather obscure duplication of the Mona Lisa. Both the magical and the muggle newspapers blamed it all on pollution in the ozone and left it at that. Lily and James Potter, meanwhile, paid it no mind and in no way was this a prophetic sign from some godly power, warning them of the threat in their midst.

That was mostly because, for one, the powers that be had a terrible sense of direction and no access to a workable GPS; therefore the freak weather occurred two countries away. Two, the new Potter parents just had a baby for goodness sake! Some rain was the least of their concern (no matter how many casualties were involved).

All in all, Harry Potter was a bouncing, happy, pink little thing. The apple of his parents eye and loved unconditionally by his godfather. Life was good. Life was simple. Life was now inhabited by a demon spawn from the depths of Hell, but that's just a technicality.

For a while everything was completely normal, even with that whole Voldemort-wanting-the-baby-dead thing. The Potters went into hiding, did their domestic duties, properly spoiled the infant with too many hugs and kisses to count and tried to ignore the growing threat right outside the doorstep.

Other things were ignored too.

"Oh for the love of-…James!" screamed Lily, throwing another incendio at the wriggling mass of crisped feelers and still smoking legs. Little Harry giggled from the crib, watching his mother go up against a cockroach that had previously been trying to crawl up a shelf, minding its own business and enjoying existence.

James ran in, fearing a Death Eater attack or another diaper change for the baby. He skidded to a stop, staring at his disheveled wife and a pronounced charred hole in the wooden floor.

"Uh, Lily…"

Weren't the hormones supposed to stop after the pregnancy?

Lily huffed impatiently, wanting to growl and tightly restraining herself, "It won't DIE, James. I've tried flattening it with a book, stomping it, setting it on fire, I'm about this close to Avada Kedavra-ing it and if you don't help I swear-"

"Woah, Lily, Lily, darling! It's a BUG! How hard can it be to-"

"THEN YOU DO IT!"

James backed up a step, hands raised in surrender, "Alright, fine. Calm down."

Squaring his chest and assuming the proper manly pose of showing-off-for-ones-wife, he stomped over to the traumatized insect and brought his foot down with a satisfying crunchy squish. Grinning cockily, he turned back to Lily and took his foot off.

"See? Nothing to it."

"Oh, I see all right." Lily intoned darkly, frowning, "And so does that bug."

"Er, what?"

Lily pointed down. The cockroach waved a broken leg in greeting. Harry clapped.

James made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Ok. Ok. I have a plan. Wait here." He came back a minute later, spatula in hand. Scraping the bug, goo and all, off the floor as best as he could, he opened a window in the nursery and calmly dumped the insect out. "There. Problem solved."

Which it was. The incident was put out of sight, out of mind. As was the half rotten sparrow that insisted on singing outside of Harry's window for a month straight until it eventually fell apart. Ditto for the strange fertile nature of the soil outside the house by Harry's nursery, caused mostly because of the large presence of worms that loitered there at all hours of the day.

It was, as the Potters put it, kooky. But ignorable. Every single last bit.

And then Voldemort arrived and people took some notice.


	2. In Which Some People Die

Baby Harry was napping, curled around a stuffed animal and happily sucking his thumb. He snuggled deeper into the soft blankets, enjoying the feeling of a clean diaper and a full belly. His peaceful existence was shattered like a teenage girls self esteem when the door downstairs blew open and the screaming started. The next thing Harry knew, his mother was flailing around in panic while a strange man with crimson eyes pointed a wand at her. The young child didn't quite know what to make of this situation and settled on blowing a spit bubble.

There was more yelling and a flash of light and suddenly his mother collapsed, eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling as if it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever witnessed. Harry, confused, glanced at the ceiling as well. He didn't get it. It was a ceiling. White, plain, and not really worth looking at. Sometimes his mother was just weird.

Well, at least she wasn't trying to put him in a dress again, despondently moaning that she always wanted a little girl to love and cherish and bake cookies with. Thankfully his father had put a stop to that quick enough, but not without taking pictures first. Little Harry still held a grudge. It was alright, though. He had made sure to poop an extra amount for a whole week as revenge.

While Harry was reminiscing the pale man had stepped up to the crib and was eyeing Harry in disgust, lip curled.

"So," the man spoke coldly, "you're the brat that's meant to bring about my downfall, are you?"

Harry gibbered.

The man sneered, obviously not impressed. "Goodbye, Potter. You'll be seeing your parents again soon enough. Avada kedavra!"

The green light that flew toward the baby was, Harry decided, very pretty. He reached out with his chubby arms, giggling. The second the spell hit him, Harry was enveloped in an odd cold sensation that sent pleasant shivers through his body. The man had frozen in shock, eyes wide, as the dratted baby refused to do the proper, socially accepted thing and just die.

'What…the fuck?' was the only thought that went through his head.

Shortly after, the spell rebounded as Harry realized that he was having all the fun and his mom had always stressed the importance of sharing, or else. The 'or else' was implied, as was the threat of having more embarrassing baby pictures taken to be shown years from now, when Harry was an awkward teenager and bringing home his first date.

Lily was a vicious, blackmail-gathering little war-mongrel.

Not many people knew this.

Neither did James, until he married her. But by then it was too late. Woe is me and all that jazz.

The point was that Harry wanted the man to feel the pretty light too. It was only polite, after all. A second later, the light struck the man and everything seemed to come to a halt.

The man imploded.

Harry blinked.

Then the whole house shook and the drapes went up in flames. As the previously mentioned completely nondescript ceiling trembled and seemed to cave in on itself, a loose bit of wood fell into the crib and struck Harry on the forehead.

That was the last thing he remembered before the blackness took over his vision like an obese woman in a bikini.

The next time Harry opened his eyes he was lying in a basket on a doorstep. At night. All by himself. Surrounded by wild animals and drugged out homeless men with cocaine needles.

Well, alright. Maybe be was exaggerating, but who in their right mind would abandon a baby in the middle of nowhere, completely unprotected from the elements?

A baby hating bastard, that's who.

At the time, Harry concluded, there was nothing he could do to change this situation. So he stayed in that stupid basket and plotted revenge on whoever was responsible for this outrage. Didn't these people know who he was? He was Harry Potter, the cutest, most special baby in the entire universe (according to outside sources).

He swore that if this was the work of his parents he was going to take advantage of his aerodynamic pee ability and aim for the eyes next time he was due for a diaper change.

They would rue the day! Rue!

Those were the thoughts he fell asleep to in the early morning hours, right before a shriek jolted him from his dreams and he found himself staring into the elongated face of a mule. Or a really ugly woman. He couldn't be sure.

"VERNON!" came the scream.

Baby Harry wished he was deaf.

He soon found himself being stared at by the most gigantic, purple man he had ever seen. The mule quivered behind the man, every now and then giving a little whining whisper about the neighbors and their reputation. After much deliberation, the basket Harry was in was roughly jolted off of the ground and he was brought into the warmth of the house. Giving the baby fearful glances, the couple had a short argument and Harry was promptly placed in a cupboard under the stairs, away from the prying glances of the neighbors, friends, and law enforcement.

As the cupboard door slammed shut and Harry sneezed from the dust, he realized that the situation might just have gotten crappier. Then again, this could all just be a crazy dream and he would wake up to a nice bottle of milk and kisses from his parents. This was all just a figment of his overactive imagination. No more smooshed carrots before bedtime. Yes. A nightmare brought on by indigestion.

After Harry stopped being in denial he felt a great urge to swear. However, he settled on gurgling. Angrily.

A spit bubble of rage followed.

Little Harry didn't know that if the events that happened next had never occurred, he would have spent the next 10 years in that stupid oversized closet.

All that commotion had shaken down the curled up, dried spider carcasses from the nooks and crannies above Harry. As the spiders hit the floor, they gave a twitch and as one turned all eight of their eyes toward the scowling baby. They scuttled closer, mandibles clicking in excitement. As the spiders began swarming around him, Harry gave a small giggle as their hairy legs tickled his soft skin. The spiders, in an effort to prove their reverence, decided to make the young child a nest fit for a king. Their silk was spun and Harry wriggled in glee.

A few hours later when the mulish woman finally decided to check on the baby to make sure it was still alive and all that nonsense, she was greeted to the sight of a giant ball of spider webs with spiders crawling and jumping through the various tunnels that decorated the structure. Harry's green eyes blazed through a small hole.

The woman gave a bloodcurdling scream.

Harry was promptly moved into the spare room upstairs.

Over the next few years, Harry learned that the pathetic excuses for human beings whose doorstep he had been left on were his relatives. And his caretakers. Joy.

There was also a blonde little boy that was his cousin, Dudley. Dudley amused Harry only because he was round like a beach ball and therefore took an inordinately long time to stand up again when pushed over. Growing up, being denied toys and affection, this was Harry's favorite hobby. Oddly enough, whenever Dudley tried to bully Harry around he found himself the victim of whatever meat was for dinner that day.

After the incident with the bacon and a near strangulation when the piece of pork took a flying leap at the fat boy's neck rolls, Dudley mellowed out.

Harry himself hated meal times. It was always loud and annoying, even with the Dursleys cowering in their chairs and not daring to let out a whisper. All those questions…

'Where did my head go? Did they eat it?'

'Have you seen my mother? I saw her at the pasture…'

'…I seem to be scooped out and stuffed with some strange mixture. Why is this?'

It nearly drove him crazy.

Well, according to his relatives, he was crazy. Especially after they witnessed him shouting "Shut up! Just shut up before I stab you in the eye with my salad fork!" at the roast turkey during Christmas dinner.

At four years old, Harry became a vegetarian.

There were, of course, good things that came from all this weirdness. Whenever his Aunt or Uncle got the idea to shout at Harry or call him anything unsavory, the furniture shook and swarms of flies kamikazied the windows. Their survival instincts eventually won over their profound stupidity and the treatment of their nephew underwent a vast improvement. Harry secretly suspected it was just because Aunt Petunia got sick of cleaning fly guts off the windows. Either way, Harry began to enjoy life.

More or less, anyway.

When Harry turned six, his relatives tried sending him to school alongside Dudley. Try was the operative word.

During the customary introductions on the first day all the children were asked about their aspirations in life. When his turn came, Harry thought deeply about his passion. "An undertaker." he replied, remembering the hours of amusement derived from playing with a newly buried Scottish terrier that belonged to Mrs. Fellburg from number 6. When the old woman saw Harry giving her dead bog a belly rub, she screamed and promptly dragged the child to the Dursleys who had to endure scathing remarks about proper child raising protocol. His relatives remained silent, not daring to offend the boy who stood next to Mrs. Fellburg with a chilling grin on his young, pale face.

"…Excuse me?" the teacher asked, taken aback, "I think you misunderstood the question, Harry. Do you even know what an undertaker does?"

"Mmm hmm. They're the ones who get to play with the yummy dead bodies." Harry said, battling his eyelashes innocently, "I like the dead."

The Dursleys were called in for an emergency parent teacher conference where it was decided that the best thing to do all around was to home school Harry. As in, right away. Perhaps consulting a psychiatrist wouldn't hurt either.

Harry was taken home and enjoyed a rare freedom that not many children had. He had no chores to complete (his scathing snort was enough for Aunt Petunia at this point in time when she hesitatingly asked that he weed the garden), no school to go to and could laze away the whole day if he so pleased. Thankfully, Harry wasn't lazy and therefore eagerly gobbled up the books that he insisted his relatives buy him. Harry was no dunce, thank you very much. Unlike some other unnamed people in that house. And so he learned and grew and began to seriously consider switching species if who he was surrounded by was any indication of the utter idiocity of the human race. Meanwhile, friends of the Dursleys complained that they were never invited over anymore. Petunia could only shrug morosely and think up a quick excuse.

After he turned ten, Harry had the opportunity to go to the zoo for the first time ever.

"Oh, Dudleykins, you'll just have so much fun! You remember the monkeys and tigers don't you?" Petunia gushed from the front seat of the car, "I can't believe my little baby is finally eleven years old! You're getting so big!'

"You're a man now, Dudley-" Vernon ignored Harry's choked laugh, "-soon you'll be working alongside your old man in the drill business. A father 'n son team. Yes siree."

"If you people insist on talking like that any longer, I'm going to projectile vomit in your faces." Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

The talk promptly quieted down.

'Ah,' Harry thought smugly, 'I've trained them well.' He resisted the urge to cackle, figured what the hell and did it anyway. The Dursleys flinched.

When they arrived at the zoo, Harry grabbed some money from Vernon and separated from the rest of his relatives. He meandered along slowly, glancing at the various animals without any real interest.

'This is far less interesting than I expected. Where's the death? The carnage? The incompetent zoo workers being mauled by lions?'

"I am displeased." Harry stressed to a middle aged woman he passed by. His eye twitched when her reaction wasn't to dive into the alligator pit to alleviate his boredom. What was wrong with people these days? Didn't they know who was in charge around here? Obviously not, if everyone was going to just walk around and ignore him like that.

Scowling, he continued walking around the different exhibits. He was this close to calling the day a waste and demanding that his relatives take him home when he spotted the reptile house. Mood lifting higher by the second, he picked up his pace and was soon in the dark, cool room surrounded by glass cages filled with all sorts of exciting things. Harry gazed in awe and a slight bit of longing at the area devoted to all the venomous snakes. He pressing his face up against the enclosure of a king cobra, whimpering.

"I wish…I wish you could all be out of your cages and running free…after all the people. Would you do that for me? I would give you cookies. Mouse filled cookies."

His pouting was cut short as the glass disappeared and he fell into the cobra's cage, "Woah!"

Harry found himself nose to snout with the cobra, eyes wide. The cobra gazed at him with its yellow eyes, hood flared. For what felt like hours, it didn't move. Suddenly, it extended its body into the air and took a deep bow, tongue flickering out and touching Harry on the cheek.

"Asss you wisssh, Massster."

The cobra slithered out and it was just around that time when Harry realized that everyone was screaming and every single enclosure was open. The dozens of venomous snake were surrounding tourists, crawling into clothes and constricting various appendages.

Harry skipped out of the reptile house with a big smile on his face and dodged the multitude of panicking zoo workers. This day, he decided, could not get any better. After he found his relatives and assured them that lots of people were probably dead all thanks to him, he spent the entire ride home grinning.

That was the last interesting thing to happen until the day he turned eleven, when a strange letter arrived with his name on it.


	3. In Which Harry Gets a Pet

When Harry shambled down to the kitchen early in the morning, he decided that today was going to be a good day. The sky was dark with approaching clouds and the thought of a nice downpour was refreshing. Seeing his relatives cower at the breakfast table was also refreshing, albeit in a slightly different way.

"Good morning!" he called out jovially, beaming at their sweating, pale faces. Honestly, Harry got that reaction every single time he decided to bless them with his presence during meals. It was...pleasurable, to say the least, to see them shaking and quivering and all manner of other I'm-going-to-piss-my-pants-so-help-me-god things. He got warm fuzzies in his chest whenever he pictured their fear in his mind.

"G-good morning, Harry…" Petunia mumbled quietly, eyes adverted. Vernon grunted grudgingly in the same way a person would grunt if faced with a situation where any slightest wrong move would get their head torn off and force fed up their anus.

It was a stressful way to live. No wonder Vernon was finding more and more grey hairs every day.

Harry sat down at the table, glancing down at his cereal with diced bananas floating merrily in the milk. The rest of his family stayed rigid, waiting for him to take the first bite. It was one of the rules Harry had implemented during his earlier years while feeling bored one day. Amusingly enough, it was never enforced. It didn't need to be.

The young boy practically purred as the tasty yellow pieces touched his tongue. Ah, fruit. How he loved it so.

He was interrupted from his fantasies of a fruit salad for lunch by the thump next to the door.

"Er, Mail's here." Vernon hesitatingly brought up, "Dudley, get the mail."

"Make the freak get it!" Dudley protested, banging his chubby fists on the table and causing the dishes to shake.

In fairness, Dudley wasn't very bright.

"Oh, Dudley." Harry smiled widely before Petunia could start making excuses for her son's shoddy manners. "You're so funny. Now why don't you be a good little piggy and get the mail like your daddy told you. Or should I see how you taste when I roast you over an open fire, lathered in your own disgusting fat?"

Dudley squeaked, stumbled from his chair, tripped, and practically fell into the hallway.

'Oh yes,' Harry thought, ego sky rocketing, 'it's good to be me.'

Slowly, Dudley made his way back into the kitchen, eyes bulging in his round face.

"What do you say, Dudlykins?" Petunia demanded, a hysterical tilt to her already shrill voice.

"I-I'm…" Dudley's very nature rebelled against this grave injustice to his person, "I-…Dad, do I have to?" he whined.

"SAY IT DUDLEY!" Vernon shouted, squeezing his fork with white knuckles.

Dudley hesitated, staring at his parents and then at his creepy cousin. "FINE. I'm-…sorry. I guess." he said petulantly, crossing his arms in front of his massive blubber of a chest.

"You're forgiven. Now go stand outside for a few hours and think about what you did." Harry said, waving a hand in a dismissing manner. "Shoo!" he snarled when Dudley hesitated. The fat boy waddled out into the backyard as fast as he could, chins trembling.

"Ah, Harry. Please. It's going to rain soon." His aunt pleaded, glancing worriedly in the direction of her son.

"Yes, I know. Dear Aunt, you should be thanking me! Now you won't have to give that little whale his bath tonight! Just think of how much money I'm saving you in water costs."

"But-"

"And as thanks," Harry continued, "I'd like for you two to give up the master bedroom. I'm getting older, you see, and clearly need more room. This shall be done by tomorrow, yes? Naturally you won't expect me to actually move furniture by myself as that would be far beneath me, as I'm sure you'd agree. So you'd best get a move on after breakfast."

Vernon made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"I'll take that as yes." Harry smiled benignly, digging into his cereal.

Seeing that her husband was torn between decking that unnatural brat in the face and preserving his own life, and was most likely going to just sit there in a shaking rage for a good few minutes, Petunia took up the bundle of letters from where Dudley had dropped them. She shuffled through them halfheartedly, not paying much attention until a strange thick envelope caught her notice. Reading the cursive green script, she stifled a gasp and tried to inconspicuously hide the letter in the stack again before her nephew saw it.

'Of all the dratted things to happen…!' she thought in a panic, a light sheen breaking out on her skin, 'If he goes off to that school, he'll learn all sorts of freakish things. He'll get more powerful. Then he'll come back here and-'

"Aunt," Harry asked, gazing at her with narrowed eyes, "Is there something wrong?"

"N-no, no! Of course not! Just bills, yes, nothing for you to worry about, it's just bills-" Petunia stammered, trying not to look at Harry.

"Oh? I sure hope that's all there is, because if I find out you're lying to me…" He left the threat open. He refused to think that the only reason for that was that he simply couldn't think of a proper threat with so little notice. He was Harry Potter, damn it. And ending a threat with 'or I'll do stuff to you. Lots of bad stuff.' was just now how he went about things.

Petunia whimpered, wishing she was somewhere else.

Harry cleared his throat pointedly.

After a moment's hesitation, his aunt slowly handed over the envelope, hands trembling and nearly dropping the letter before Harry snatched it away from her.

"So, just what's so important about this thing that you'd try to keep it from me, huh?" Harry asked absentmindedly, studying the odd letter. Tacky sprang to mind when he looked it over properly. Humming a little tune, he ripped open the side of the envelope and read the contents, eyebrow slowly rising into his hairline.

"Well. This-…certainly explains things, doesn't it?" Harry grinned, folding his hands in front of his face and propping his elbows on the table. The two Dursleys avoided eye contact, seized with the sudden urge to go to church and never leave. Perhaps hole up in the confession booth with the ceremonial wine and weep on the priest's shoulder while bemoaning their lot in life. And, you know, confess. Before the end came.

Which, Vernon thought, chancing a quick peek at his nephew, might be coming sooner than anyone expected.

The silence stretched on.

A cricket chirped outside.

"Judging from your actions when you saw the letter, that means," here, Harry faked a little astonished gasp, "why, you must have known! For shame, and you never even told me! Me, your precious, adorable, lovable only nephew in the whole wide world!"

"Er, Harry…that letter..it's probably just a joke!" Petunia argued, staring pleadingly at her husband for some moral support.

"Yeah. Yeah, what your aunt said. All this nonsense about magic, its rubbish! I won't stand for it in my house!" Vernon nodded his head, moustache quivering in agreement.

"Magic, uncle?" Harry asked innocently, "Who said anything about magic? I don't believe I've ever mentioned it, nor the contents of this letter. About which, may I add, you seem to know quite a lot. Kooky, huh?"

Vernon looked flustered, face quickly assuming a deep purple tint.

"Anyway, assuming this letter is real, because honestly, who would be stupid enough to try to prank me, we'll all find out the truth tomorrow. It says that a professor from the school will be coming here at noon to take me shopping."

"I-I won't have those freaks in my house!" Petunia shrieked wildly.

"Pfft, please." Harry made a dismissive gesture with his hand, "As far as I'm concerned, this is my house. And you are just the annoying help who don't know their place. So there. End of conversation."

"Look, you little-"

"Vernon, Vernon. You seem to have a lot of pent up energy. So why don't you do something productive and…bake me a cake, hmm? A chocolate one. With strawberries. Chop chop."

Harry batted his dark eyelashes and hopped off the chair, spinning around to face his relatives. "And just to make sure that everything gets done like it's supposed to, I've hired a supervisor!" He dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a rumpled looking ball of fur. The ball twitched, rolling around a bit before stretching out and poking out a beady eyed little head with yellow teeth and bent whiskers.

Harry beamed at his relative's horrified faces, "I call her Miss Puff-Fluff, and I rescued her being eaten by Mrs. Figg's cat. Well," he glanced at the shredded remains of Miss Puff-Fluff's rump and the her complete lack of a lower jaw, "mostly eaten, at any rate."

"What do you think? Isn't she completely precious?" Harry asked, cuddling the gnawed-on rat against his cheek.

Petunia made a strangled noise and looked ready to faint. Vernon wasn't faring much better.

"Clearly you're stricken into silence with her cuteness and unable to answer, so I'll take that as a yes."

Harry gently placed Miss Puff-Fluff on the kitchen table and patted her on the head, making soft little cooing noises reminiscent of ones that a mother might make to her newborn baby. "Now Miss Puff-Fluff, I'm counting on you to make sure that the Dursleys behave, ok?"

The rat squeaked, tongue flopping from its mangled snout.

"Awh, I know you'll do a good job. 'Cause you're so smart and I love you and who's my darling little fluff fluff?"

If this was anyone else talking like an idiot to an undead rodent, they would have gotten beaten up without even a second thought. However, since this was Harry we're talking about, he was allowed some moments of…not-quite-masculinity. And anyone who said otherwise would find bits of grandma in their dinner one day.

With one last farewell to his pet, Harry skipped upstairs after making sure Dudley was still standing out in the yard. He resisted the urge to squeal.

Magic! It was real! There might even be a whole society of people who had his gifts and-

Harry skidded to a stop.

"FUCK!"

He whimpered, throwing himself onto his bed and curling up into a little ball of misery.

All this time Harry had thought that he was special, the only one with such powers, the chosen God of this forsaken little planet! And now…now he was about to be usurped by some newcomers who showed off by sending mail with old parchment instead of regular paper like normal people!

This just would not do.

A tear leaked from the corner of Harry's eye as he wallowed in despair and melodramatics. He sniffled as images of his fall from grace assaulted his mind like calories at an all-you-can-eat restaurant.

That day Harry refused to come out of his room, taking comfort from Miss Puff-Fluff who had squished underneath his doorframe to inform him that his cake was ready. He promptly rang the little bell on his night stand to summon a Dursley to bring him the whole thing.

Hours later, Harry finally fell asleep with chocolate smeared on most of his face and a living-impaired rat on his chest.

The next morning, Harry woke up in a better mood. He had decided that maybe he was overreacting to this whole mess. The letter might have just been a prank, like his aunt had suggested, in which case all this worrying was for nothing and he could continue his easy existence of future-overlord-of-the-world. And if it was true, well…

He'd deal with that issue when he had to.

Besides, it was completely impossible for him not to be special and far more powerful than everyone else. It just wasn't. End of story.

He waited impatiently in the living room, a book on Burial Practices of the Criminally Insane nestled in his lap. The clock ticked away, each second slower than the last.

'So help this neighborhood if this is a joke. People are going to die.' He though, grinding his teeth impatiently.

Finally, the clock struck twelve.

The door shuddered under a loud bang.

Harry practically gushed his excitement as he hastily ordered Vernon to answer the door. After some grumbling from Vernon, a hairy, extremely large, barbaric looking man-thing entered the hallway and made a beeline for Harry as soon as he spotted the boy.

"Ah, there ye are, 'Arry!" he shouted, "Glad to see the muggles didn't give ye any trouble!"

Harry was nearly catapulted off the couch when the giant sat down with all his weight next to him. Harry twitched.

"Do I know you?" he asked, not liking when complete strangers acted so…chummy with him.

"Why, sure ye do! I'm the one that brought ye to your relatives ten years ago. Ye can call me 'Agrid, lad." Hagrid boomed, obviously unable to use his library voice.

"You were?" Harry asked sweetly, eyes narrowing speculatively.

"On Dumbledore's orders. Great man, that Dumbledore." Hagrid said with the air of one who had just seen Jesus in a marijuana induced vision.

"I see. I hope I can meet him someday so I can thank him for placing me with my dear aunt and uncle." As young as he was, Harry knew his family didn't care for him one bit. He vaguely remembered being thrown into a cupboard within the hour of his arrival in this house, and that was definitely not something loving relatives did. Harry shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if he never had any powers in the first place. 'Yuck. A life of servitude and drudgery? Not in a million years.'

Harry zoned out after hearing from Hagrid that Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, which was where he would be going come September 1st. He completely ignored the smooshed cake the hairy oaf presented him with as he imagined all the different ways that Dumbledore would suffer for placing a helpless baby with people like the Dursleys. This would require revenge of the most drastic sort, he was sure. There would be blood, and pain, and perhaps even a creative use of chainsaws. But most importantly, there would be death. Oh yes.

"-Are ye ready, 'Arry?"

Harry blinked, losing his train of thought, "Pardon?"

"I'm 'ere to take you shopping now. Don't tell me ye already forgot, lad!"

"Oh. Right." Harry smoothed down his clothes as he stood up and made his way outside. He felt a jab of confusion at the complete lack of a car or other vehicle in the driveway that didn't belong to the Dursleys. "Er, and how exactly are we to get there? Fly?" He sneered, vowing that he definitely would not be walking to wherever the giant man wanted to take him. He would be carried, if it came down to it.

"No, no. Ye aren't allowed a broom till ye'r second year, 'Arry. We'll be taking the Knight Bus." And with that, Hagrid raised a pink umbrella into the air and a loud bang filled the street. Harry took a hasty step back as a violently purple, triple-decker bus appeared in front of him. He nearly collapsed as Hagrid placed a beefy hand on his shoulder in a seemingly comforting manner as he saw his first proof of magic. The door of the bus swung open and a pimply faced young man started at them.

"Leaky Cauldron." Hagrid said shortly and pushed Harry forward up the steps of the bus.

"That'll be eleven sickles. For an extra two sickles you can get hot chocolate, and for an extra two you get a hot water bottle and a tooth-"

"No thanks, Stan, not today." Hagrid handed over the money and Harry found himself squarely planted on a shaky bed. He bristled in indignation. If that beast of a man tried to touch him or push him one more time, he was not going to be responsible for the consequences. Honestly, the nerve of some people!

His vengeful feelings quickly sky rocketed as his face nearly met the widow when the bus lurched off with another band and Harry just managed to grab onto the edge of the bed and avoid that embarrassing incident. he rest of the ride passed with Harry being Not Happy and considering going home and avoiding this mess. Hagrid attempted some small talk, but after a complete failure in getting any responses from the boy, he settled on telling him about the Wizarding World and how wonderful his parents were. That stopped soon enough after Harry answered with, "Well, they obviously weren't that great since they managed to get themselves killed."

Uncomfortable silence followed.

After what felt like forever, Harry was unceremoniously prodded off the bus and found himself facing the seediest looking pub he had ever seen in his life.

"You don't actually expect me to go in there, do you?" he asked in disbelief.

"Nonsense, 'Arry. It's the only entrance to Diagon Alley. It's a fine place, ye'll see."

Harry wasn't very reassured.

The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was even worse than the outside. Musty, dirty and sporting a horrible décor, it wasn't the best place to introduce Harry to Wizarding architecture. He was less than impressed, as his wrinkled nose testified. When Harry was led to a back area and proudly shown a brick wall, he promptly ranked Wizards a few pegs under Dudley and started to turn around to escape this insanity.

"Now wait just a second, lad. Diagon Alley is right through there." Hagrid gestured at the wall and began tapping at various bricks.

Harry made a derisive snort, "Haven't you people ever heard of a door, then?"

The bricks suddenly parted into a wide opening, showing the shops of Diagon Alley in all their glory.

"Welcome 'Arry, to Diagon Alley!" Hagrid grinned, small black eyes twinkling.

Harry blinked.

"Oh."


	4. In Which There is Racism

Diagon Alley was, Harry thought, not quite what he had been expecting. There were shops, sure, and lots of buildings. There were things that Harry hadn't even imaged could exist before today; marvelous and shiny objects that he couldn't help but look at as Hagrid led him along the cobblestone streets.

There were also cauldrons and lots of cats and newt eyes. People wearing robes and pointy hats hurried along on errands, some discussing the prices of unicorn horns and dragon scales in irritated voices.

It was with a startling realization that Harry stopped, standing in the middle of the throng of people and ignoring the giant of a man who asked Harry what was wrong.

"This can't be right." Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes and looking very disgruntled.

"What are you goin' on about there, lad?"

"Don't you see?" Harry demanded, sweeping his arms out dramatically, "All of this, the people, the clothes!"

"You've lost me, 'Arry." Hagrid said, confused. That poor boy, so amazed by the splendor of Diagon Alley that he still hadn't gotten over his first impression of it. Ah, he sighed softly, to be young again.

"It's a walking cliché!" Harry cried, feeling somehow cheated over this entire experience. "I mean, look at this nonsense! It's like you people saw a cartoon on TV about witches and someone said, 'By George, look at this! Let us create a culture based off of this cartoon and be walking stereotypes forever!' and someone else was all, 'Yes! Brilliant! Those black robes are quite slimming!' and there was this one guy who was against the whole idea but the other two threw him in the oven, cooked and ate him, because that's just what witches do, right?!"

Harry sniffed pathetically, "I bet there are castles and ghosts and mermaids, too. I wouldn't put it past you people. I just want you to know that you've ruined any joy I might get from there being a whole world of magic. I hope you're happy."

"Er, 'Arry…" Hagrid began nervously, seeing that by the end of Harry's little speech they had began to attract an audience.

"No. Don't talk to me." Harry said, crossing his arms and turning his back on his tour guide. This wasn't at all how he pictured his introduction to his heritage going. First of all, what the hell? Second, he might as well have stayed home and had everything delivered by catalogue because this was a giant waste of valuable time he could have used on other things, like sleeping or having one of his indentured servants make a pillow for Miss Puff Fluff. Once you got over your shock of 'Ooh, the wall makes a door. Amazing.', everything else looked pretty much like a town during the middle ages, except for it not smelling 'cause of all the raw sewage and disease and stuff. So while Harry liked historical tours as much as the next child, that is to say, not at all, he wasn't too impressed with the place.

Harry's internal musings were cut short as he found himself being turned around and nudged toward a white marble building. He gritted his teeth and shooed Hagrid's hands away with a muttered 'No Touchy.'

Hagrid was determined to ignore the blatant bad mood of the Boy Who Lived, just knowing that the poor little child was suffering from a severe case of culture shock. Harry would be right as rain as soon as he got used to the wonder of magic.

"This, 'Arry, is Gringotts. It's the wizarding bank!" Hagrid cried, leading Harry up the steps and pausing dramatically in front of the doors to give the boy a chance to read the foreboding poem inscribed upon them.

"Yes, yes. It's lovely." Harry said dismissively, shoving open the doors without a pause and stomping inside.

He quickly stopped.

"What's with the midgets?" He asked, staring at the ugly little…whatever those were. The midgets in hearing rage promptly gave him dirty looks.

"Those are Goblins, 'Arry. They run the bank. You'd best keep on their good side; they can get good 'n vicious when they want t' be." Hagrid answered, being all kinds of helpful.

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Of course they are."

There was a moment of silence.

"So…" Harry began again, "I've decided to set up an account or whatever you want me to do here in another bank. Not to be racist, but I'd rather do my business with something that doesn't have fangs." He nodded his head over at one of the Goblins who was sneering at him with a mouth full of pointy teeth. He doubted that 'attacked by a Goblin gone postal' would be covered by his health insurance.

Hagrid guffawed, reaching out to pat Harry's head and being left hanging as Harry dodged and kicked the fluffy bastard in the shin. "No can do, m' boy. This 'ere is the only bank."

"Excuse me?"

"No other bank exists!"

Harry made a distressed sound, "Well naturally." He debated the benefits of throwing a fit over this ridiculous money monopoly but in the end decided to just…let it go. Something told him there would be many more instances of retardation before the day was over. He followed Hagrid up to one of the numerous counters and kept a blank expression on his face throughout the whole transaction.

And then…

A roller coaster ride.

In the bank.

Sigh.

He ignored whatever stupid package Hagrid had to pick up (really, did the guy have to run errands now?) and before he knew it, they were standing in front of a whole shitload of gold.

"I claim it as my own." Harry said.

"Well yeah, m' boy. This is the trust vault left to you by your parents." Hagrid explained, not even bothering to grab Harry as the boy tackled the nearest gold pile and embraced it lovingly.

It was all so very shiny. And his. All his. Harry felt tears of joy prick his eyes as he took in just how massive the vault and its contents really were. He had never lacked funds, per say, but there was only so much money he could take out of Vernon's check before the bills started piling up.

"So this is just the trust vault, you say? There's a bigger one?" He asked, suddenly feeling so much better about this whole mess.

"The family vault. But ye' won't be able to access it until 'ye reach seventeen years." Hagrid started shoveling some of the coins into a small pouch, only to have it ripped out of his hands by the furious boy. " 'Arry…?"

"Woah, woah, woah! What do you think you're doing with my money?!" Harry demanded, scowling at the big oaf.

"Ye' need to bring some to go shopping, 'Arry! How else did ye' think you were goin' to be buying what you need?"

"Well that's…alright then. I suppose. But keep your hands off my stuff or I will end you!" He made sure to fill the pouch to the brink with the shiniest golden coins until the material bulged, not bothering to listen to Hagrid's protests about not needing all of that.

After another ridiculous ride they were back in the sunlight and Harry found himself forced on top of a foot stool while a woman (witch?) molested him with a tape measure. Next to him, a blonde boy was suffering the same faith. They stared at each other until the blonde finally spoke.

"Hello," said the blonde, "Hogwarts too?"

"So everyone's been saying." Harry stated, swearing to himself that he would never ever wear those horrid robes the woman was forcing on him as the other boy blathered on and on about his father, brooms, and various other things Harry wasn't interested in.

"Have you got your own broom?" the blonde went on.

"I generally try to leave the sweeping to the servants." Did this kid have some kind of broom fetish or what?

The blonde let out a laugh, "Oh, that's funny. Seriously though, what model do you have?"

Harry eyed him oddly, "I'm sure I don't know. I didn't really…check."

"Not a Quidditch fan, then?"

"No." Where the hell was Hagrid and his explanations when you needed him? This was ridiculous.

"…That's ok, I suppose. Do you know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No." Harry was going with that whole 'don't look like an ignorant idiot by asking stupid questions' strategy. It was working so far, although not knowing what they were talking about was really annoying and Harry didn't approve at all.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all out family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Harry imagined that the boy was so chatty because he had been locked away in the basement his whole life with only a bottle of glue to talk to. Eventually the glue left him too, just like everyone else he had ever loved, and he gnawed his own toes off in an angsty rage. The whole idea made Harry feel much less rage over the irritating child.

"I'm just hoping that I'll get a house with a somewhat non-stupid name. So far, I'm not seeing much evidence pointing towards that."

The blonde opened his mouth to reply before something outside caught his attention, "I say, look at that man!"

Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come it.

"That's Hagrid. He's my tour guide." Harry said, suddenly feeling ashamed. Couldn't the school have sent a more…well-groomed person instead? Maybe he should have claimed he didn't know the giant idiot. Oh, it was all so bothersome! How was he supposed to prove his superiority when men who could easily pass as hobos followed him around?

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"Do you look at him and honestly think he could make it in any other kind of profession?" Harry asked.

The blonde sniggered, "Doubtful. I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

And they left a man like that unsupervised with a frail, defenseless eleven year old boy? Lovely. Harry's enthusiasm for Hogwarts was fading by the minute. Just what kind of an idiot ran that school!? If that oaf left even so much as a bruise on his glorious person, Harry was going to sue. Sue so hard.

"Well that's just great." Harry said, voice clearly showing just how 'not great' it truly was.

"Why is he with you anyway? Where are your parents?"

Harry sighed, "The idiots got themselves blown up or something so they couldn't make it here themselves. So, I'm stuck with that idiot."

"Oh, sorry." Said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"What, white? I'm not Jamaican, if that's what you're asking." How racist. Harry took in the boy's pale complexion and ultra blonde hair with a raised eyebrow. Was the boy one of those neo-Nazi types?

"No! I meant were they magical?"

"Oh." Why couldn't he have just said that in the first place? "Yes. But it didn't seem to have helped them to avoid that whole 'dying a horrible death' business, so I don't think they were very good magical people."

What followed was a mini-rant from the blonde about 'the right sort of people' which just made Harry even surer about his little neo-Nazi speculations. Well, Harry supposed, you found racists everywhere. Even in a Halloween-themed medieval village.

"What's your surname, anyway?" The boy asked, bringing Harry's attention back to him.

Before Harry could answer along the lines of 'You're supposed to introduce yourself first, you cretin.', he was interrupted by the witch telling he was done. Harry, wanting to just get this day over with, quickly hopped off the stool and marched out the door, ignoring the blonde's goodbye.

His enthusiasm to be outside again dwindled as Hagrid accosted him with half-melted ice cream.

The next few hours passed in a giant blur of nonsense and retardation. He was told to buy other cliché items like a cauldron and potion ingredients, got a wand from a creepy man Harry was sure was a closet pedophile from the way he stared at Harry, and an owl for mail. He didn't have anyone to write to, but he figured it'd be good to have a way to contact a lawyer if he ever needed one. Honestly, even though Harry had filled his money pouch to the brink, there really wasn't anything interesting to buy. Sure, he got some extra books, but…no flying carpets? No vicious three-headed dragons? What a rip-off.

Weary, Harry let himself be dragged back home, arms laden with packages that he would have made Hagrid carry if he didn't think the idiot would have accidentally sat on them. That would have led to another trip to Diagon Alley and Harry didn't think his sanity could take it.

Harry waved Hagrid off with a, "Just go away and leave me alone! And brush your hair, you dirty baboon!" after he was told instructions for the train.

He collapsed on his bed, not bothering to unpack. Miss Puff-Fluff crawled onto his chest and nuzzled his face in sympathy as Harry whined about the horrid world he'd been thrust into.

It wasn't magical at all.

It was a Disney movie.

With Nazis.


	5. In Which Harry is Molested

There were only a few days left before September 1st and Harry was taking a relaxing walk to enjoy the warm weather.

Well, alright. It was actually more along the lines of 'sulking-and-trying-to-forget-the-impending-horror-while-distracting-himself-with-scenery-and-ultraviolet-radiation', but thinking of it along those lines seemed a bit counterproductive to that whole forgetting business.

So there he was. Strolling. Sniffing flowers. It was all very exciting and whatnot.

He was just overflowing with summer joy.

Ugh.

In truth, anything that got him away from the house and his school supplies was alright by him. So while Harry would have preferred to stay in his room and read, it just…wasn't an option anymore. Whenever his eyes landed on his school trunk or wand (it had all been tossed into a corner the second he got home) his mind wandered back to the world he would soon have to enter - and whenever that happened, something would inevitably burst into flames.

Why oh why couldn't the magical world be less retarded?

Harry sighed.

There was really no use in feeling sorry for himself. But even though he said that…

Another sigh.

Harry kept walking, his body going through the motions even as his thoughts focused on other, less pleasant things. Eventually, he came upon something that would normally cause him to speed on by in a panic.

A graveyard.

It was, as far as graveyards went, a pleasant place. Neatly trimmed grass, pretty trees and fresh flowers as far as the eye could see. Nothing spooky or horror-movie-ish about it.

And you would think that Harry would be all over such a place, what with his love of all things rotting and living-impaired.

Yeah, you'd think that.

You'd be wrong.

Ever since Harry was a baby, he'd been drawn to death. That was just a fact. The graveyard wasn't an exception to that matter, either.

However…

Harry didn't know how to explain it, there was just something very, very unnerving about dead people. It wasn't like he thought they'd eat him alive and tear him to pieces, nothing like that. All he knew was that whenever a hearse drove by or he was in vaguely close proximity to the dead, he got the feeling that he was being scrutinized in a highly freaky way.

Closely scrutinized.

Like they were undressing him with their milky, unfocused eyes.

Harry shuddered.

Hence, he made it a point to stay the hell away.

Unfortunately, the stress caused by the stupid magical fiasco had apparently made Harry lose quite a bit of brain cells because the next thing he knew the gate was swinging shut behind him and he was standing in a circle of gravestones. For a few moments, nothing happened. Harry was just beginning to think that he had been needlessly paranoid all these years (because really, what could ever hurt him?) when the ground seemed to wriggle.

Harry froze.

A shifting, rumbling noise filled the air as the grass tilted and was pushed away from below. Hands, some nothing more than bone, appeared shortly after. Wrists and arms followed, all reaching in the same direction.

The urge to flee, far and away, was buzzing through Harry. At the same time, he was filled with curiosity – would the zombies (as cliché as he felt to be using that word, let's face it, that's what they were) go on a rampage and have a good time noming on various Surrey residents? Would they just amble about aimlessly? He really wanted to know. So even though he did not feel that it was in his best interest to stick around, he didn't move an inch.

Second by second, that perturbing feeling grew deep in his stomach.

Finally, one of the zombie's head managed to pop out of the ground like a daisy. Those eyes, or what passed as eyes since they had long rotted away, promptly focused on Harry.

"Er…" the boy cleared his throat, reminding himself who the superior being here was. "Right then. Hi. I'm Harry. Are you able to talk, or…?" Considering the lack of muscle or vocal cords, that was highly unlikely. Still, there was no reason not to ask and be polite.

There was no answer, the intensity of the air growing as more and more bodies crawled their way out of their graves and stared at Harry (who, contrary to what other's might have said, was not fidgeting, thank you very much!). They slowly closed in, inch by inch. One of fresher looking zombies, a vaguely middle-aged man from what Harry could tell, took the lead. The man's claw like hand clutched at Harry's shiny shoe, working its way up to the boy's ankle.

"Hey now!" Harry protested, really not liking the look the zombies were giving him. He gave his foot a little shake to get the hand off of him – it, unfortunately, didn't seem to work very well.

Harry was usually a very affectionate boy. He cherished Miss Puff-Fluff and petted and hugged every animal to cross his path. He cried during Bambi!

Well alright, that last part didn't really have much to do with anything.

Still, the point was that in any other circumstance Harry would be all about lavishing his undead minions with love and attention. But holy crap on a stick, these dead folks were creeping him out! There was something so very alarming in the way they stared at him, mouths practically salivating in a way that he really hoped didn't mean hunger.

He paused for a moment to wonder about that.

How does one salivate without salivary glands?

His musings were cut short as another hand crept where no hand had gone before. Harry gave an embarrassed shriek, not liking the fact that it made him sound more like a little girl than the future god/overlord of the planet.

It took him all of his dodging skill but he managed to work his way out of the group of undead, smoothing down his clothes in jerky movements and trying in vain to retain his composure. A blush stood out starkly on his pale face as he did his best to glare at the advancing zombies.

"I don't know what in the world you were doing but that was just – just rude! I don't even have words for you people! I'm going to leave now and I hope you think about what you've done! For shame!"

After his emotional speech, Harry promptly high tailed it out of there.

Miss Puff-Fluff gave a little start as her Master skidded into his room and quickly locked the door. He stumbled his way over to the window overlooking the street, panting loudly and nervously glancing about.

So far, so good.

Harry thanked the universe that none of the zombies were able to move any faster than a narcoleptic snail. Even with that glorious fact on his side, he still ran all the way home at top speed. This, mind you, was no easy feat. Harry was about as unexercised a child as they come, spending his time reading and laying about.

Hence, Harry was sure his tired body was going to die at any moment.

"Miss Puff-Fluff…" he gasped out, falling onto his bed after making sure that no zombie was headed up the street, "I'm never leaving the house again. Ever."

He paused.

"I never thought I'd say this, but dead people are awful!"

He rolled onto his back, sweat dripping down his flushed face as he shuddered over the day's events. How horrible. And really, when he thought about it more, he realized that what really pissed him off was that he still didn't know what those bastards wanted.

It would have been better if they'd at least spoken to him! If one of them had said, "We hope you don't mind, but verily, we'd enjoy feasting on your femur." then he could understand that. He'd know where they were coming from.

But no.

All he got was silence and stares.

How rude.

A sudden scream from a few blocks down grabbed his attention and he rolled off the bed, carefully peaking out the window so that nothing outside could see him.

More screams.

Gulping, Harry hoped September 1st came soon.


	6. In Which Harry Makes Friends

The day had finally arrived. After packing, which consisted of throwing everything haphazardly into his trunk while trying to avoid looking at anything magical, Harry had Vernon put it all in the car and heaved a giant sigh.

"Lucy!" He called out, sticking out his arm so that his shiny (albeit useless) post owl could make a landing. He petted the soft, white feathers, cooing in response to Lucy as she titled her round little head and half closed her eyes in pleasure. "I'm heading off to that horrible place now. You know where Hogwarts is, right?"

Lucy hooted an affirmative.

"Oh good! Go there, ok? Don't get lost on the way. And don't get shot by some idiot with a gun. And make sure you eat properly, I don't want you getting low blood sugar and passing out over a pond and drowning."

Nodding, Lucy nipped Harry on the ear and took off, gliding gracefully over the trees and scaring Mrs. Weatherby from number 6 nearly half to death as the owl playfully dive bombed the woman's rather unnecessarily fruity hat.

It brought a little tear to Harry's eye.

He and the owl had bonded while Harry was hiding out in his room. It was quite fun. Like a slumber party but without making out and pillow fights, or whatever it was that people did at slumber parties. Vernon's movies weren't very clear.

He wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be with stripping down to his underwear and letting other kids braid his hair and give him "massages". And then, you know, completely undressing and wrestling about like…like hyperactive, drooling puppies.

Sometimes he wondered about his Uncle. The man needed a hobby.

s

s

s

The drive down to King's Cross was uneventful. Harry amused himself by kicking the back of Vernon's chair and watching the overweight man's face get slowly purpler as the time went by. Then, just as the color was beginning to turn into this fascinating mix of mauve and bright red, his Uncle would glance back in the mirror, see Harry's wide smile, blanch, and sit stiffly without moving for a good fifteen minutes. Then the cycle would repeat.

It was Harry's favorite car game.

He scored points for every time Vernon nearly crashed into upcoming traffic or made neat little strangled noises from suppressed swears. Double points were awarded if the man had to pull over to take an emergency shot of his blood pressure medication.

Outside the car, Harry could see signs of past violence on many of the houses and businesses. He figured it was probably from the incident the newspapers referred to as "Gangs on PCP with jungle rot." The newscasters on TV had been going on about that for the past few days, throwing around words like gravesite desecration and nothing to worry about and completely harmless.

Which didn't do much to explain the blood stains and broken windows. Or the fact that half the people on Privet Drive were missing.

Harry smelled a giant cover-up.

One day the street was filled with screams as the zombies he had accidentally brought to life went homicidal and the next, nothing. It was downright unnatural. Harry had thought about getting to the bottom of this oddness until he had gotten distracted by Miss Puff Fluff getting her head stuck behind a bookcase. He had to quickly intervene before the rodent's head had a chance to pop right off.

Again.

He flopped down ungracefully on the back seat, feeling like maybe a temper tantrum would make him feel better. But no, it seemed like too much work. Really, right now he'd just rather be back in his own bed and looking forward to starting at a normal school where he could terrorize the teachers without fear of having one of them turn him into a toad.

…Did that actually happen?

Harry realized that he had no idea how the actual schooling at Hogwarts happened. What were the punishments like? Were they chained to the ceiling and tortured for not handing in homework? 'Cause that…that would suck.

Harry would revolt. Yes.

He'd give an inspirational speech and amass a dark army out of the poor, insipid students - who could have thought about revolting earlier but didn't and now Harry got to be King because that's how stuff like that worked. He'd take over the school in a blaze of glory and declare that the land –nay, continent! – was to be renamed Harryocalypse. Or something even cooler once he actually had time to brainstorm a name that would have just the right amount of 'awesome'.

It would be epic. There'd be songs written about him and rulers from other countries would come and ask for mercy or alliances and Harry could be all, "Whatever, I'm taking your land and your women!" Because according to the books Harry read, that's what overlords said. And then he would taunt them mercilessly from his throne of human skulls, but then again that didn't seem comfortable so maybe his throne could just be a bunch of pillows or a plushy chair or something. Yeah.

Vernon risked a nervous glance behind as the boy began to cackle in glee.

s

s

s

Car rides, as it turned out, went by a lot quicker when you were daydreaming about your imminent ruling of the world.

Harry was distracted from his internal debate over whether or not having a giant pool filled with happy dolphins was a bit too gaudy for the front yard by Vernon screeching to a halt. Unfortunately, this sent Harry crashing to the floor.

"Vernon. What. The hell." He muttered from his ungainly heap.

"Er, we're here!" Came the rather rushed response from Vernon, his voice so full of fake enthusiasm it nearly gave Harry a hernia.

"I can see that!" That was a lie. All Harry could currently see was a candy wrapper underneath the front passenger seat. He worked to fix this problem by scrambling back up to a more dignified position. "Were you trying to kill me?"

"….."

"VERNON!"

"Don't be stupid, boy. Why would I want to kill you?"

Harry glowered. He hadn't even left yet and already the servants were getting uppity.

Grumbling, he stepped out of the car and made a point of slamming the door behind him, enjoying the way his Uncle flinched at the noise. "I don't have time to deal with you right now but so help me, come Christmas vacation, you will rue the day. Rue."

Vernon paled. In hindsight, maybe attempting to get the dratted brat to go flying headfirst out of the windshield and into oncoming traffic wasn't the brightest idea - especially since it failed. Well, you lived and you learned. Unless you died in the process.

s

s

s

Harry stared at the ticket in his hand, brow furrowed in agitation.

He looked up.

Platform 9.

Platform 10.

There was a distinct lack of Platform 9 ¾.

He glared at the ticket, hoping that enough hatred would transform the numbers into something rational.

The seconds ticket by.

He sighed.

"This is just ridiculous." He informed his trunk, the heavy object sitting innocently by his feet, dropped there by a frantic Vernon who made a point of fleeing as soon as he could.

Harry didn't think there'd be much point in flagging down one of the station employees and asking where, exactly, the magical platform that took him to a mystical school filled with witches and wizards was supposed to be located.

Feeling his frustration quickly turn into self-pity, he pushed his trunk closer to the wall and plopped down on it. He leaned back, deciding that if the stupid wizards weren't able to make it obvious where the platform was - and seriously, was it that hard to attach a sign somewhere that only magical people could see but that would clearly explain what the hell you were meant to do? – then he was going to sit here and take a nap until someone came by to help him.

And if he was accosted by a hobo or druggie in the meantime then that was totally grounds for taking the headmaster to court for endangerment of minors. Like, he could be getting killed. Right now. And did anybody care? No.

Harry's musings were cut short as, in the process of the aforementioned leaning, he fell through the wall.

Today was not a good day for his relationship with gravity.

He imagined he must have looked quite odd, half his body on one side and half on the other. He was tempted to stay in that position just to see the reaction of the non-magical people. Unfortunately, this decision was taken out of his hands by some helpful stranger helping him up and patting him on the head, like a freakin' pet dog.

Bristling at this further injustice, he grabbed his trunk and dragged it to the train (another disappointment. A Train? Really? Did it at least fly?), wondering how in the hell he was going to manage to get that thing up the stairs.

He glanced around, trying to spot someone subservient enough to do the heavy lifting.

A rather amazing hat caught his eye, easily towering over the heads of other people because of its large size. It was a scruffy, vicious looking stuffed vulture, seemingly just waiting for the opportunity to rip off someone's face.

Harry wanted that hat like he had never wanted anything before in his life.

Abandoning his trunk, he made his way through the crowd on a hell bent mission to procure that fashion accessory for himself. Unfortunately, by the time he managed to squeeze through the imbeciles who felt the need to block his path, the hat (and the woman) were gone.

Harry scowled.

That hat…would have made the perfect crown.

He would not rest until he had it.

This was not the end, hat!

"E-excuse me…"

Harry's head swiveled around to face a chubby, awkward boy who was clutching a toad in his hands. "Yes?" he asked, not feeling very charitable at the moment and if that kid even tried to ask him how he felt about brooms, Harry was going to smack him.

"Are you a first year too?" The boy's voice was soft and somewhat squeaky. It annoyed Harry with its very existence.

"Unfortunately."

The boy startled a bit, "Oh...uh….So you, um…"

Clearly, 'eloquent' was not the boy's middle name.

"Yeah. Great talking to you. Really. I've gotta go now before someone steals my trunk-…" He paused. Subservient looking? Check. Meek? Check. Totally able to help with manual labor? Check.

(For Harry's purposes, 'help' should be taken to mean 'do all the work instead' to avoid general confusion.)

Harry promptly beamed at the boy. He grabbed the boy's sleeve and dragged him over to the entrance of the train where his trunk sat, forlorn and forgotten. "This is my trunk." He explained, pointing helpfully at the only trunk in a ten foot radius. "I need you to get it up into a compartment. Not because I myself can't, mind you, but because I don't want to."

Never let your enemies know your weaknesses, like a complete lack of upper body strength.

He was pretty sure that rule applied to servants as well.

The boy looked flustered – Harry got the feeling that the kid wanted to say no but didn't know how. He could totally work with that.

"What, you're not going to help?" He asked, scowling. The boy's face flushed an unattractive red.

"I-…no, I will, it's just that…"

"Just what? You're too good to help a poor little new student whose Uncle had abandoned him without even a goodbye? Well. Your parents would be ashamed. Like, 'thrown out of the family' ashamed. SHAME."

The boy flinched violently at the mention of 'parents' and timidly went to grab the trunk. Harry watched as his new servant tried his best to maneuver it onto the train, finally succeeding after a good few minutes of breathless heaving. Harry bound up the stairs and patted the poor boy on the head, smiling proudly. "Good job!" he crooned, "Now go find a nice compartment."

He ignored the whimpers and patiently waited until his orders were carried out.

As Harry sat in his newly claimed compartment, trunk neatly stored in the overhead and a panting servant slumped against the wall, he finally felt that things were beginning to look up again. "So!" He chirped, "What's your name?"

"N-Neville Longbottom." The boy answered, doing his best to avoid eye contact.

"It's nice to meet you, Neville. You're my servant, ok? Ok. Glad we're on the same page. Now get out."

"But-"

"Shoo." Harry gave Neville a look that sent the boy scrambling to escape the suddenly confining compartment.

Harry mentally gave himself a pat on the back - and then a physical once, because it just hadn't seemed like enough. Yes, all those hours of practicing looking scary in the mirror had totally paid off. He made a mental note to send a very nice letter to the author of "How to Intimidate Your Enemies Without Going to Prison In the Aftermath."

It was a good book. He highly recommended it.

Harry stretched out on the seat, yawning. Maybe getting here so early wasn't such a neat idea. Punctuality was all well and good, but there was something to be said about sleeping in and not dying of boredom because the train wasn't leaving for another hour and whose bright idea was it to get here so early anyway?

"Rawr." Said Harry, just to break the silence.

s

s

s

He was awakened by the compartment door slamming open. Blinking the fuzziness out of his eyes, he tried to covertly wipe away the drool that ran happily down his chin.

"Hey mate, mind if I sit here?"

Harry's eyes narrowed on this new interloper who had invaded his domain. "Yes."

"Great!" the redheaded brat exclaimed, promptly throwing his things haphazardly on the opposite seat and not even having the decency to put his trunk up without making a racket.

Harry felt rather confused. Something seemed to have gotten lost in the translation. "I…I said yes."

"Yeah, thanks. Everywhere else was full and my brothers kicked me out." He boy said, sulking a bit.

"You're…a bit slow, aren't you?" Harry asked, trying to be delicate for once in his life.

"What do mean?"

"…Nothing. Ignore me. I'm just going to sit here and hopefully you're going to sit there and we'll get along just fine if you don't talk. Or breathe." He sighed, feeling too worn out after his nap to deal with this nonsense. An unfortunate fact that Harry tended to forget and then have it bite him in the ass was that naps made him tired for hours on end. He supposed it was like getting woken up in the middle of the night and then being told that you had to stay up or your bed was going to catch on fire. So even though you really, really wanted to go back to sleep you were stuck and it sucked.

The redhead was eyeing him oddly, "Mate, if I don't breath I'll pass out."

"You don't say."

"Yeah. The twins used to do that kind of stuff all the time when they were little to get their way but my mum just kinda ignored 'em."

"Fascinating."

"Nah, not really. When my little sister tried it, she didn't even pass out 'cause she couldn't do it all the way and then she cried when we made fun of her and mum yelled at us."

"No way."

Harry slumped back down on the seat, staring at the ceiling. Maybe if he focused enough, it'd fall down and splatter the redhead and then there'd be silence…

"Oi, so what's yer name, anyway?"

"Harry Potter."

"….."

Harry turned his head so that he could look at the boy. He raised an eyebrow at the wide eyed look on the redhead's face.

"What?" Harry demanded, feeling very out of the loop and not liking it one bit.

"You're Harry Potter?"

"I just SAID that."

The boy paused for a moment before increasing the intensity of his stare. "Can I…see it?"

Harry promptly sat straight up. "Excuse me?"

"Can I see it?" The boy repeated eagerly, seeming to be nearly salivating, "Just for a second?"

Suddenly, Harry wasn't feeling very comfortable. At all.

"I…I don't think…"

"Oooh, can I touch it?"

The boy made a move as if to get closer to Harry, who quickly pressed himself into the corner in an attempt to avoid any bodily contact with the redhead.

"Get out!" he shrieked, "GET OUT, YOU PERVERT!"

The boy's mouth dropped open. "WHAT?"

"I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT. I WAS WARNED ABOUT YOUR KIND IN HEALTH CLASS."

"WHAT?"

The compartment door slammed open again – Harry took a moment to question why the hell it seemed like no one was able to open doors quietly anymore – and Harry nearly launched himself at his blonde headed savior.

"Draco!" he cried, feeling a bit like swooning but suppressing that urge because he still had his dignity, damn it.

"Oh. It's you." Draco replied, giving Harry a nod. "I head a bunch of shouting so I came to see if there was anything interesting going on."

"Protect me from this deviant!" Harry demanded, pointing at the freckled boy who at that moment wished he was in any other compartment but this one. Boy Who Lived or no, this kid was crazy.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the redhead, "Deviant? I should say so. You're a Weasley, aren't you? My father told me all about your family."

"Yeah? So who're you?" the boy demanded, indignant at the tone of Draco's voice.

"Draco Malfoy." Draco titled his head up, looking down at the redhead superiorly.

The Weasley snickered at the name but before the conversation could continue, Harry cut in.

"I don't care who you are, you sexual predator! Get out! Out!"

Oh, how Harry wished that Miss Puff Fluff was here. Well, technically she was here, just not…here. Harry, not knowing what the heck kind of an ordeal he'd be expected to overcome in traveling to a magical school, had safely placed his pet in a soft, cotton lined basket in the trunk. It's not like she needed air and he didn't want her getting hurt by accident while he rode a unicorn or hung onto a flying dragon. Although if he had known all he'd be doing was riding a fricken' train he wouldn't have bothered. And now it was too late. Ok, he could get her out but frankly, it seemed like too much work. He had to get someone to get his trunk down, open it, blah blah blah. Not gonna happen.

While Harry was busy with his little internal monologue, Draco had fixed Weasley with a very amused look.

"A sexual predator? For shame, Weasley." Draco said, pretending that he knew what a 'sexual predator' actually was. He'd owl his mother later and ask.

"I'm not!" Weasley yelled. He too had no idea what that meant but it seemed bad so he was definitely going to deny it, even if Harry Potter said he was one!

"Well either way, you're obviously not wanted here, so…" Draco snapped his fingers and two burly (or as burly as 11 year olds can get) figures stepped into the compartment and stared the redhead down menacingly. "Crabbe, Goyle, take care of this peasant."

Harry watched, impressed, as the Weasley was promptly tossed out of the compartment, his belongings quickly following. Draco, for all his faults of being a Nazi, wasn't half bad. Harry eyed the blonde speculatively – yes, he'd make a very nice servant.

Now that the threat of molestation was gone – and boy, hadn't that sounded bad when the teachers talked about it – Harry felt less like a cringing princess and more like the evil overlord that he was. He made a mental note to work on that. It wasn't impressive at all and ruined his image of awesome.

"Thank you so much, Draco. You're good people. You can sit by me." Harry offered generously, beaming at the blonde. Draco flushed slightly and took the offered spot on the seat.

"You're welcome. My father says that the Weasleys are poor and maybe if they'd stop breeding like vermin then they'd be able to afford some manners." Draco said, nodding at the wise words of wisdom. "By the way, I never caught your name."

"It's Harry." He paused, staring at Draco a bit uneasily in case he happened to pull a Weasley. "Potter."

Draco's face showed obvious surprise, but then a satisfied expression quickly overtook it. He was friends with THE Harry Potter. He tried not to squeal.

"Well then, I'm pleased to meet you, Harry." Draco said faux-nonchalantly, holding out his hand.

Even though he took it gingerly, Harry beamed at the blonde. "Ditto."

Yes. His dark army was forming.

Glee.


	7. In Which Draco is Very Wrong

Conversation in the compartment was…awkward. Draco, his awesome new servant, kept talking about things and Harry was determined to hide the fact that he didn't know anything and ruin his image forever.

So there they were. Sitting quietly, their respective noses buried in books. Every now and then Draco would open his mouth like he'd try to say something, catch Harry's intent look of I'm-Reading-Very-Seriously-So-Don't-Even-BREATHE-In-My-Direction-You-Peasant and change his mind. This went on for a few very long hours until the heavens granted a reprieve.

"Snacks, dears?" an older, plump woman asked, strolling in with a cart full of the most glorious looking things Harry had ever seen.

Candy.

Magical Candy.

Literally magical, not the 'wow this sure is really good you could almost say its magical' but actual, probably-sprinkled-with-fairy-dust-and-baked-by-mermaids, magical, sugary stuff.

Harry inhaled sharply. "Draco."

The blond paused in searching his robes for a few stray galleons and gave his new friend (Harry Potter. Harry Potter was his friend! This was so going in his diary tonight and Blaise could suck it because Harry Potter was his friend!) an inquisitive look. "Yes?"

"Buy it for me."

"Buy what for you?"

Harry gestured at the cart.

Draco's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What, the whole thing?"

Harry stared at him like it should have been obvious.

Draco snorted. "Yeah, I'm not-"

"Draco." Harry said, interrupting, "I would very much like all of the candy. All of it. It would make me happy. You should want to make me happy. Don't you love me? I thought what we had was…special." Harry had learned in his many readings that there were a few ways one could go about getting things for free. As Draco was his servant and had saved him from a deviant, Harry was feeling charitable and didn't want to go down the road of 'DO THIS THING OR I'LL MAIM YOU AND KILL YOUR FAMILY'. That narrowed down his choices. The books were firm in mentioning that appealing to all that 'love' nonsense had a good chance of working and as a servant, Draco should love him and cherish the ground he walked on, right? Harry was pretty sure that's what the books meant. He wasn't quite sure what all that…'showing some leg and batting your eyelashes' crap had been about, so he'd ignore that part.

Draco's face quickly took on a very red hue and he stammered for what was probably the first time in his life. "Uh- Harry. No. I mean, wait-" He paused. He definitely wanted to have 'something special' with Harry Potter. Did that mean they were really good friends? Like, super friends?

Or…

He withheld a gasp.

Were they…boyfriends?

His older cousins were always talking about having boyfriends and how fun it was and how they'd get presents from them like all the time and does this dress make me look fat do you think maybe I should stop eating cake for breakfast-

No no, wait. He was getting off track.

So if he was Harry Fricken' Potter's boyfriend, he should be…buying him things. Yes. That's how that worked, he thought.

Because why else would Harry ask him for stuff and ask about love and 'special bonds'? It made sense.

Draco puffed out his chest. He'd be the best boyfriend!

The trolley lady stood silently by the doors as all that internalized drama was in progress, an unmoving smile on her face. Those little bastards clearly had no idea that she was on a fucking schedule and why wizard-god why couldn't they keep their little dumb hormones in their dumb pants and stop making googly-eyes at each other and-

This -this was why she drank.

Those asshole kids finally got their act together and the blond (a Malfoy. Had to be a Malfoy. Goddamn Malfoys and their goddamn gold spending more on sweets than she made in a month should be a fucking crime-) handed her a bag of galleons and nonchalantly told her to keep the rest like he was doing her a fucking favor that little bastard.

"All of it, dear? Alright, if you're sure! Don't get a stomachache now from all that chocolate, my loves!" She left the cart (someone else could get it later she was so done with this shit she should be retired by now goddamn it where did she put that bottle of firewhiskey) and barely refrained from slamming the door on her way out.

Draco proudly swept his hand in the general direction of the trolley. It had cost him half of his weekly allowance but he was totally such an awesome boyfriend. Harry oohed appreciatively, rewarding his servant (omg the best servant) with a beaming smile and dove into the candy. He was a few handfuls in before he realized that it would probably be a good idea to slow down before he threw up everywhere because dark lords didn't pull that kind of crap. It was…unseemly. And right in front of his shiny new servant, ugh.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, alternating between Harry stuffing his face and Draco blushing at odd moments while giving Harry compliments on the shininess of his hair and the greenness of his eyes. Harry didn't know what that was about but whatever, maybe that's just what devoted servants did. How was he to know? His previous servants were a bunch of idiots, so this was a nice change of pace either way.

Finally, they arrived. Draco assured Harry that they could leave their trunks and they made their way off the train. Harry spotted that giant man-beast herding the other children into some sort of wobbly line and just about died of embarrassment when the oaf looked at him and yelled out a greeting for all the world to hear.

Oh god. The hairy indentured servant was…talking to him like they were friends. In front of witnesses. So many witness. They'd all probably have to be killed now-

Harry made a strangled sort of noise.

"I just want it on record that I hate that man." Harry quickly blurted out so that his minion didn't get the wrong idea.

"Well, obviously." Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. He should tell his father about how uppity The Help was in this place. Speaking to his boyfriend like that, the nerve!

After a long and unnecessary boat ride across a lake (Harry dearly regretted never learning to swim) they arrived at a large, majestic castle. Harry felt torn. On one hand, giant castle. On the other hand, another cliché. But castles were cool. Harry himself one day wanted a castle. So there was…that.

His general distaste for the magical world was warring with his glee over living in a castle and it was making him a bit grumpy. Having to then wait in a hall with a bunch of peasants while waiting to be collected by a professor didn't improve his mood either.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a bunch of freakin' ghosts floating across the room.

The ghosts, having been having their own conversation about the uselessness and grave ineptitude of the resident poltergeist, suddenly shuddered to a halt. They felt…odd. And slightly terrified. They glanced around the hall, looking for the cause of the feeling of imminent death (re-death? Death the 2nd?) and, finding nothing, they came to the quick consensus that a strategic withdraw was in order. None of them understood why, but they could discuss that later when they didn't feel like they were going to expel ectoplasm from their nether-regions.

Later, the professors would question why all the ghosts were hiding in the Forbidden Forest.

The ghosts, flustered, would claim that they were simply fostering solidarity and friendships through camping, thank you very much, and they didn't appreciate the 3rd degree from a bunch of fleshies. No one brought up why the "camping trip" lasted a good few weeks before the ghosts began to hesitantly trickle back in to Hogwarts, thoroughly sick of all the nature and spiders.

To Harry, it looked like the ghosts froze and then scattered like a bunch of startled pigeons. Ghosts were, he decided, way less cool than he always imagined.

Rolling his eyes, he continued waiting. He ignored whatever dumb conversation was happening behind him (but seriously if they made him fight a troll he was calling the police for child endangerment) and huffed impatiently. Just as he was thinking about going to find the owner of this place and complaining about the lack of service, a stern woman appeared and led them into a big ol' room filled with the other students.

The first years around him oohed and ahhed about the ceiling quietly and Harry peaked at it out of curiosity.

"It's charmed to look like the sky!" a girl whispered nearby, thoroughly impressed.

"Wow, yes." Harry whispered back, "It's almost like one of those sky-lights you see all over the place, isn't it?"

The bushy haired girl shot him an irritated glare and proceeded to ignore him from then on. Harry didn't much care.

And then the hobo hat that was placed on a stool by a professor began to sing and Harry just about gave up on life. He desperately hoped all the hats didn't sing because god help him if he was now living in some sort of magical musical where accessories belted out a tune whenever they fricken' felt like it. He momentarily wondered about his own wizard hats that were stuffed down somewhere on the bottom of his trunk. He would burn them as soon as he could, just in case. Yes.

Finally, after what felt like ten thousand years, the hat shut-up and began to call out the students' names.

Neville Longbottom, his first magical servant who was still sending him petrified little glances, was placed in Gryffindor. Harry vaguely recalled hearing that Gryffindor was supposed to be the house of the brave and decided that not only was the hat absolute rubbish at singing, it was also drunk.

Draco, his super awesome minion, was promptly placed in Slytherin and shot him satisfied looks while preening like a peacock. Harry, being a generous lord, gave him a thumbs up.

And then the hat called out 'Harry Potter' and he strolled up to the stool amidst ego-boosting loud whispers of "Wow, Harry Potter!" and "I can't believe it's him!"

Yes, peasants. Marvel at your new god.

Harry had a moment of anxiety as the hat was placed on his head (oh god that can't be sanitary. One of those people probably has lice or fleas. Oh god.) but reminded himself not to look week in front of the people. If his servants could do it, so could he!

He would just…wash his hair extra good tonight.

Eww.

"Young man, I do not have fleas!"

And now he was hearing voices. That's it, he was done. He had clearly suffered a psychological break sometime in the near past and now he was crazy and how could he take over the world if he was crazy it just wasn't done-

"You are not crazy. I am the Sorting Hat, talking to you. I repeat, you are not crazy so if you could stop your monologuing for a second I would greatly appreciate it."

Oh.

"Yes, 'Oh'. Now, where should I put you? Hufflepuff is-"

No, their color scheme sucks. He didn't look good in yellow.

"-not right for you. I can't say anyone has ever called you a 'hard-worker' in your life, you lazy child."

Excuse you.

Hobo hat was giving him sass.

"Oh hush, I'm just calling it as I see it. Hmm, not Gryffindor either, I think – listen you, the color schemes of the houses are hardly relevant! I don't care if red clashes with your eyes! Sweet Merlin, be quiet for just a second!"

Rude.

"Ravenclaw is a maybe, you certainly like to read. Hmm. But then, Slytherin is a far better fit. Don't think I didn't hear all that nonsense about 'world-domination' a minute ago."

Nonsense!?

"I get one of your kind every few years or so. They generally mellow out after they get laid."

?

"…Forget I said that. Not important. Shh. Right, better be SLYTHERIN!"

Harry stumbled to the Slytherin table amidst dead silence from the hall and smug looks from the other Slytherin students. Draco looked absurdly pleased as he patted the space on the bench next to him.

Harry was distracted.

There were others like him. Others with his plans. But they were derailed and never completed their task because…

'Get laid.'

What did that mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Harry is sorted into Slytherin, a fact that I'm sure completely shocked everyone and no one ever saw coming like it was totally obvious. :D
> 
> Also – 11 year olds are stupid and no, Draco. You're not dating. Poor dumb bastard.


	8. In Which a Promise is Made

Weasley the Sexual Predator was sorted into Gryffindor, distracting Harry from his thoughts of impending doom. He watched the boy be congratulated by a herd of others with the same shade of hair and assumed they were all related in some way.

“Do you think,” Harry began hesitantly, “that they’re _all_ molesters?” Maybe it ran in the family.

An older Slytherin sitting nearby made choking noises and stared at Harry with a startled expression.

“Probably.” Draco nodded his head sagely, “I wouldn’t put it passed them.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, “I knew it. Don’t go near them, Draco. They’ll do _things_ to you.”

The older Slytherin cleared his throat to get their attention, “Ah, excuse me, what _exactly_ are you-“

Alas, he never got the chance to find out what the hell the two first years were talking about. Professor Dumbledore chose that minute to stand up and the Great Hall fell into a hush. He was beaming at the students, arms opened wide, and Harry was thoroughly reminded of every single image of a wizard he’d ever seen in the normal world. He was slightly sad to note the lack of staff, though. What kind of man went to so much trouble to look like a stereotypical old wizard dude and didn’t even bother with a _staff_? Harry doubted his commitment to his Merlin image.

“Welcome!” the old man said jovially, “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words! And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” He sat back down amidst loud clapping and cheering and Harry barely had a moment to think ‘what’ before the tables were suddenly piled high with food and-

‘Oh god.’

Harry quickly pressed his hands against his ears, eyes panicked.

‘HEY WHERE’S THE REST OF MY BODY?’

‘Excuse me, why am I covered in gravy?’

‘YO THIS IS SOME KIND OF BULLSHIT RIGHT HERE-‘

Harry made a drawn-out whining noise as Draco shook his shoulder in concern. Oh god he forgot. Why didn’t he request the meal be vegetarian because of religious reasons or something oh god he could have said he was very allergic to meat oh god oh god why why _why_ -

“Harry, are you alright?” Draco asked, taking note of how distinctly freaked out the other boy looked. Harry’s bottom lip wibbled.

By now, he was starting to attract some attention from close-by students.

“I say, what’s wrong with him?” Gemma Farley, a Slytherin prefect, leaned in closer to intently peer in Harry’s face. She desperately hoped the boy wouldn’t keel over. She could just see the headlines in the papers tomorrow, READ ALL ABOUT IT: EVIL SLYTHERINS KILL BOY WHO LIVED DURING FEAST – NO ONE MUCH SURPRISED. Ugh they did not need more bad publicity, thank you very much.

“I have no idea.” Draco replied, poking Harry none too gently in the ribs, “Hey, Harry. _Harry_.”

Harry’s glassy eyed gaze shifted slowly toward the blond before looking at the rest of the faces that were staring right at him and _judging_ him and-

His face turned bright red, mortified.

‘What was _that_ , Harry?’ he thought to himself, a tad unhinged, ‘Did you just freak out at the dinner table? Did you? Huh? Did you look like a hysterical crazy person in front of your _minions_? DID YOU?’

Oh god, how embarrassing. How were people supposed to fear and worship him if he looked like an unstable looney and – _did that one guy just pull out smelling salts?_ What an awful way to make a first impression. This was a giant disaster of epic proportions and Harry was greatly displeased and he really wished his face would stop burning like that.

There was only one thing to do.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, self-consciously smoothing down his tacky robes (his minion had insisted he put them on. Ugh. They were so _bad_ ) and-

Piled some salad onto his place like nothing had happened.

“Harry…” Draco began, deeply confused, “What-?”

“What?” Harry asked, staring at Draco with a flat expression and desperately wanting the food to _shut the hell up already_ but determined to ignore it to the best of his abilities.

“What was that about?”

“What was WHAT about?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed down to slits, “Just _now_. Your… _fit_.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry stuck his nose up in the air with a disgruntled little sniff, as if Draco were the one being completely ridiculous.

“HARRY.”

“ _DRACO_ , EAT YOUR SUPPER BEFORE IT GETS COLD.”

Draco bit down the ‘Yes, Mummy’ that almost came out by habit and made a sputtering noise. “Excuse me, I don’t think-“

“You two. First years.” The prefect, Gemma, interrupted their little spat. “You’re making a scene. People are _looking_. You need to calm down and save your…whatever that was, for your dormitory, got it?” She stared them down like they were two misbehaving puppies that had just chewed up every single shoe in the whole damn house. If Potter wanted to pretend nothing had happened, that was alright by her. As long as he didn’t off himself and tarnish the reputation of the glorious Slytherin House, she didn’t much care _what_ he did.

The boys were suitably cowed, though Harry caught himself after a minute and stared at the Prefect with a disbelieving expression.

What…just happened?

Had he been…scolded? Like some sort of _child_?

The- the _nerve_.

DID THIS…THIS _PEON_ NOT KNOW _WHO HE WAS_?

HE WAS-

He managed to calm his quickly rising (thought totally justified in his opinion, thank you very much) righteous rage when he noticed the nearby turkey legs quivering with excitement and murderous intent.

He swallowed down the scathing retort was just practically bursting to get and quietly seethed.

‘Your time will come, uppity servant.’

He shoved a cucumber slice into his mouth and chewed with the wrath of a thousand dying suns.

‘Your time will come.’

 

 

Somewhere in between trying to block out the long epic tale of ‘How I Found a Tasty Dandelion That One Time’ by chunks of cow floating in a bowl of stew and Draco’s quiet attempts at conversation, Harry noticed something.

The professors were…staring at him.

It wasn’t even the ‘wow look at him, he sure is a majestic future overlord, isn’t he’ staring that Harry would have preferred. It was more along the lines of how one would stare at an interesting bit of alien goo under a microscope. Harry stared back.

A man with an unfortunate purple turban hastily looked away and Harry preened in triumph. Now that his authority had been asserted on that one, he turned his attention to the next man who was – Harry paused. Glaring. At _him_. What.

The man, decked out superbly in black like some sort of broody vampire, appeared to be trying his best to set Harry on fire with just his eyes. Harry promptly made a mental note to see if that was actually a thing a wizard could be because oh my god, best super power _ever_.

Still though, that look was completely uncalled for.

Harry raised his eyebrow in challenge and the man’s stare doubled in intensity.

If that was how he wanted to play it, then…

The man became very distracted shortly after as his slice of chicken made a beeline down into his shirt. The older, stern looking woman from before choked on her wine and quickly shot a look at a pair of red haired twins.

“FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY! HONESTLY!”

The twins looked up from their meal, superbly confused, “WHAT?”

“DETENTION, THE BOTH OF YOU! JUST _ONCE_ I’D LIKE TO HAVE A NICE START OF TERM FEAST, IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? IS IT?”

“BUT-“

The twins gave each other startled looks. They didn’t even DO anything! _Yet._

“DON’T MAKE ME MAKE IT _TWO_ DETENTIONS, YOUNG MEN!”

Their older brother quickly slapped his hands over their mouths before they could make a justifiable retort and gazed at the professor remorsefully, “So sorry, Professor McGonagall! Won’t happen again!”

“SEE THAT IT DOESN’T!”

She chugged down her goblet of wine. Every year. EVERY year it was something. Sweet Merlin, and people wondered why she didn’t have children.

 

 

Not long after the man finally managed to get his chicken situation under control, the food disappeared and Gandalf the Second stood up again with a flourish.

Harry, who had just been about to take a bite of some delicious looking pumpkin pastry, was not impressed.

“ _Hey_ -“

The Slytherin prefect shushed him. Harry’s eye twitched.

“Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden. I’d like to bring up the point that that’s why it’s called the FORBIDDEN Forest and not the Go-As-You-Please Forest. Once again, the _Forbidden_ Forest is _forbidden_.” The old man stressed, staring directly at the Gryffindor Table.

Probably he should have been looking at the Slytherin Table instead, where Harry had just made it his life’s mission to go into the forest or die trying.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry made a little noise, superbly interested in the Corridor of Death, and the Slytherin prefect’s reproachful gaze swung to him in an instant.

Gemma had the sudden realization that babysitting the new babies was going to be a thousand times tougher than she previously thought. Especially that Potter brat, whose eyes were now twinkling suspiciously. If she caught him anywhere near the third foor she swore she would _drown him in the lake_ \- although, that might slightly defeat the purpose. Well, maybe she’d just shut him in a closet until the term ended. For his own safety. Yes.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song! Everyone pick their favorite tune and off we go!”

Harry was unprepared for the torturous yowls that assaulted his ears. He thanked the universe that at least _his_ house was remaining quiet and dignified.

“Will this be going on for much longer?” he demanded, fixing Draco with an intense stare.

“I don’t know. I hope not.” Draco replied, a bit desperately.

Harry heard one of the other first years, a black haired girl with an upturned nose, quietly whimper out a ‘why is this happening’. He wished he had the answer.

Finally, _finally_ …there was blessed silence.

The Slytherin table, as a whole, let out a relieved breath.

“Ah music,“ Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes, “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, I had almost forgotten! If you’d all turn your notice to this young man here-“ He gestured at the turban wearing man, who reluctantly stood up and gave an awkward wave. “This is Professor Quirrell, and he is to be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I hope you all make him feel welcome!”

“H-Hello, everyone!” Professor Quirrell stuttered before quickly regaining his seat, looking for all the world as if he wished he were somewhere else.

There were some half-hearted greetings from the students. Most just stared at him with unsettling glints in their eyes, thinking ‘easy prey’.

They were released from the Great Hall shortly after and Harry found himself trotting behind the Cursed She-Beast as the Slytherin prefect led them into the dungeons. He remained silent, trying to memorize the path. He really hoped a handy map of this place was given out tomorrow because life was going to be a bit ridiculous without one.

The prefect stopped before a nondescript stone wall and cleared her throat to get their attention. “Right then, this is the entrance to the Slytherin common room. You’ll need a password to get in, which changes every fortnight. The current password – listen up, please!- is…” Gemma hesitated, sighing. This was the last time they picked a password from a hat, she swore to Merlin. “The password is ‘Tasty Cumquat’. Please remember it.”

The wall pealed apart at the password and Gemma herded the children in.

As Harry gazed upon his new abode he decided that…yes. This will do.

The whole place looked like an evil villain’s lair. Either that or some sort of high priced underground nightclub, but as Harry had never been to one of those, he couldn’t properly make that association.

The leather sofas, skull motifs and green mood lighting were rather nice, he thought.

“Now,” Gemma continued, “I am one of your prefects, Gemma Farley, and I’m a fifth year.” She probably should have introduced herself earlier, now that she thought about it. Meh. “If you need anything, don’t forget to ask myself or one of the other prefects. The girls dormitory is on your left and the boys on the right. Before I let you go, remember to act accordingly once you’re outside of these walls and don’t dishonor the glory of Slytherin House, or I will _end you_.”

She stared at the first years for what Harry thought was an unnecessary length of time. The She-Beast, he thought, was very melodramatic.

“Now get to bed. It’s late and you’ll need to be at the Great Hall by eight tomorrow for breakfast. That’s also when you’ll be getting your class schedules, so if you’re late you won’t know what class to go to and you’ll be expelled from Hogwarts _forever_.”

A few of the children looked frightened.

“I’m joking.” Gemma said, voice flat. “Probably. Be on time, is what I’m saying. Shoo.” With that, she turned away and joined a group of her year mates, not bothering any more with the children. Her job, as far as she was concerned, was done.

 

 

Harry learned that he would be sharing a room with Draco, Draco’s two servants, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He liked his privacy, thank you very much. Well, he supposed he’d just survive for now and then request a private room if people got too annoying. He huffed, flopping down onto a comfortable bed that he deduced to be his by the presence of his trunk. He then promptly scrambled off and threw the trunk open, digging inside frantically.

“Potter, what-“ Theodore stared at his dorm mate with a bemused expression.

“I forgot!” Harry moaned in distress, “I completely forgot!”

He flung a shirt aside, narrowly missing hitting Blaise in the face.

He finally pulled out a small basket, holding it close to his chest. “I’m so sorry, My precious little fluff fluff! I didn’t mean to leave you in there for so long!”

The other boys crowded around him, curious to see what was in the basket. Once Harry removed the object of mystery from inside it, however, they recoiled in horror.

“WHAT-“

Harry shot Draco an affronted look, “Don’t yell like that, you’ll _scare_ her.”

“ _I’LL_ scare her?!”

“Potter, what in blue blazes is that thing supposed to be?” Blaise demanded, pretending like he wasn’t half-hiding behind Gregory’s broad back.

“That THING has a name, thank you very much. SHE is Miss Puff-Fluff and SHE is precious and adorable and I don’t _appreciate_ your tone!” Harry stated firmly, completely offended on behalf of his pet.

Draco thought that maybe Harry somehow wasn’t aware that the rat he was holding was a half rotten monstrosity. “Um, alright…” He tried a softer approach, “But why is she missing…bits?”

Harry hmph’d. “We can’t ALL look like models, _Draco_.”

Draco felt that Harry was missing the point.

“What Draco means is why does that rat look like it- sorry, SHE – was dug up after a cat ate most of her?” Theodore asked, watching the rat’s tongue happily flop in the space its bottom jaw should have been with a morbid sort of fascination.

“Because that’s what happened.” Harry stated. “Obviously.”

“Oh, obviously. Of course. My mistake.” Draco said, a tad hysterically. “WHY DO YOU HAVE A DEAD RAT?”

Vincent squinted at Miss Puff-Fluff, “I think she’s kinda cute.”

“SHUT UP, VINCENT. NO ONE ASKED YOU.”

Gregory tsk’d at Draco, “Rude.”

Harry frankly thought this nonsense had gone on long enough. “Draco, you need to accept Miss Puff-Fluff is you want our relationship to continue.” Because he would totally drop Draco as a minion and demote him to foot-servant if he had to, don’t think he wouldn’t.

Draco colored faintly, looking away. He didn’t want them to break up just when they started dating!

“Sorry,” Theodore interrupted, looking highly interested in the proceedings, “Relationship?”

Draco ignored the other boy and looked up at Harry from beneath his lashes, somewhat bashful. “Well, I mean, if she’s that important to you. I guess I can…ignore the…” he paused, making a face, “-the rot. I guess.”

Harry nodded, pleased. “Yes. Good.”

“There’s a relationship?” Theodore asked, insistent.

“NEVER MIND, THEO!” Draco flushed. He didn’t want the other boys to start teasing them. What if Harry got too embarrassed and decided being boyfriends was too much trouble? No way, he would definitely keep that from happening!

 

 

Later, when the boys were in bed, Harry lay awake thinking about what the hobo hat had said.

He didn’t know was ‘getting laid’ was but he was going to avoid it like the plague. He wouldn’t let anything keep him from his goals. Later, he’d find the library and figure out the specifics but for now…

“Draco.” He whispered, none too quietly. The boy in question made muffled little half-asleep sounds.

Harry turned toward the blond, a serious look on his face, “Draco. Promise me something.”

“…Yes?”

“Promise me that you’ll never let me ‘ _get laid’_. This is very important, Draco!”

“Ah…” Draco had no idea what any of that meant, but, “…Alright. Yes, I promise! You’ll never get laid as long as I’m around!”

He was _such_ a good boyfriend.

 

 

The next morning…

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were enjoying a relaxing breakfast together and when one of their House Elves brought them a letter.

“Look darling, it’s from Draco!” Narcissa beamed, hastily opening the letter while her husband looked on indulgently.

_Dear Mummy and Daddy,_

_I have been sorted into SLYTHERIN!!!! Daddy, I know you say that one exclamation point is enough in letters but it is clearly not in this case! :)_

_And also I have other super exciting news and won’t you be surprised to know that I met Harry Potter and we’re best friends now and also we’re BOYFRIENDS! I already bought him lots of candy (actually the whole trolley on the train and can you send more money because I spent quite a lot and I feel poor now D: ) and I’m being a really good boyfriend and you should be so proud!_

_Speaking of poor did you know that Weasley (the youngest one but we’re actually pretty sure they’re ALL like that) is a molester and a sexual predator? It’s true. I had to save Harry (my boyfriend!) on the train and he looked very ~~trame trouma trametized~~ scared and he was so happy when I showed up. So now we’re staying away from them because we don’t want to get molested even more._

_Please write soon!_

_Your Best Son Ever,_

_Draco_

_PS. Harry also got sorted into Slytherin!_

_PPS. Send money please. ):_

 

Narcissa’s glass of orange juice shattered.

“LUCIUS!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: LOOK AT HOW THIS UPDATE ISN’T YEARS FROM NOW. LOOK AT IT.
> 
> You guys have no idea how long I’ve waited to write Draco’s letter no his parents. Oh man.
> 
> And I’m going to be so sad when these little assholes get older because 11 year olds are ridiculous and I love writing them. But then again I get to write smut when they’re older. So. Hmm. And Gemma is totally a real character according to the HP wiki. She was the Slytherin prefect during Harry’s 1st and 2nd years. I’m going to try my hardest to not have any OCs in this thing, dangit.


End file.
